Choose Your Own Nuthouse
“So, what’s your name, anyway?” You ask.
“To pronounce it, I would have to remove the left side of your tongue,” says the man, fingering Louis the Knife, “so just call me John. Unless you want me to remove the left side of your tongue. Because I will. If you want. Do you want?” John looks a bit anxious, stroking Louis that way.
“No, that’s alright. I think we can work with John. Good name, John. John Lennon was named John. Good history there.”
“Also John Wilkes Booth,” John points out, stroking his naked thigh absently with Louis.
You figure it’s too late to back out of your offer now, so you and John climb into the car and you drive off. Several minutes later, you notice John is holding the baggie of snackfood. You can’t tell exactly what it is. But you’re hungry, and your emergency Oreo stash is in the trunk. You ask for some of John’s snackfood. John begins to bash his head against the window very forcefully. Aside from the rhythmic thud, he is not making a sound. You are now pretty freaked out.
“He’s gonna break your window, buddy,” says your radio. Oh, yeah, you think. You’d forgotten about that. Now you are fully panicked and begin shaking. You lose control of the car and veer off the road. As luck would have it, your brakes choose this moment to go out. Not to be outdone, the accelerator decides to malfunction and you gain speed steadily. At least the steering still works. You bowels and bladder release, but that’s the least of your concerns. You are in a real fix. The rational part of your brain (the only part that’s not shrieking in terror) tells you that Lake Doomhole should be pretty close by now. Of course, you are in an out-of-control car hurtling through a dark forest with a crazy, half-naked man (who is still beating his head against your window), a knife named Louis, a possessed radio, and no idea which direction the road is. The non-shrieking brain section mulls its options…